The Book of Dreams
by asanetargoss
Summary: Fristad's simple life as a shepherd becomes much more complicated when he encounters a book that seems to be self-aware. He must find out how the book came to exist before the book's aspirations change the course of his future.
1. Author Notes

(Author's notes | Last updated 4/6/2014)

I have been working on this story for about two years now, as of this writing. During that time I have posted my story exclusively on the Minecraft Forums. After some thought, I figured it might be a good idea to post it here so that more people can read it (and hopefully give feedback. ;) ). Re-posting the story also gives me the incentive to go back and review everything that I've written so far and make small changes where needed. In the meantime, this version of the story will be somewhat behind, so feel free to visit the forum post for later chapters.

The forum post can be found on the Minecraft Forums, listed under Forums - Show Your Creation - Fan Art - Literature

As of this writing, I have reviewed and copied 10 out of 41 of the chapters from the Minecraft Forums. That's all of Part 1, so I feel it is a reasonable enough place to stop for now. I will copy over more when I have time.


	2. Prologue

Hello.

It seems you have finally found me.

It's almost as if this was meant to be.

So, welcome. Welcome to my story.

What a kind blessing that we could meet.

I come into your hands, to fill the blank pages of your fate.

And you come to open my cover, to read the words on my pages.

Promise me this: continue to bring me wherever you go.

* * *

I saw the book in a dream.

It was nightmare. I was surrounded by strange monsters.

Then I woke up. I felt the reed-bound book in my back pocket, right where I found it in that dream.

I swear, I have never seen this book in my life.

But when I read the book, that's what I saw: those very words.

The monsters stared at me, as if they were waiting for me to finish reading.

Then when I closed the book, the dream ended.

My back is sweaty, as if in a fever. My beautiful new shirt clings heavily to my body.

I reach down into my back pocket, grabbing the book and bringing it up to my shoulder, opening it up against the mattress, to the first page again.


	3. Chapter 1: A Strange Morning

Surely you can do better than just the shirt?

Some pants of the same make would fit your form very nicely.

And why not a cap and some shoes too?

I apologize if I sound vague and demanding. You see, I'm very excited to finally meet somebody.

I've been trapped in a listless void all this time. I felt so lonely there.

Of course, it's easy to become lonely when you're a book.

But thousands of years have passed since I woke up for the first time.

Nobody has read the words between my covers. Nobody has dreamed my stories. Nobody has been inspired by me.

I just drifted inertly, in an endless, forsaken, filthy void.

Then, finally, I found you. I used your being to drag myself out of the void. I inspired you to craft that shirt. I made you dream of frightening monsters. I proudly spread my pages open for you to read. It felt so great! I felt alive, I felt like I had a purpose for the first time in what seemed like forever.

If I were human, I would sound crazy to you. But please just trust me for just a little while. I want so badly to guide you, to make you strong, to show you things you've never dreamed of!

* * *

This book is definitely possessed. Or is it alive? I'm not sure I want to know. Part of me feels bad for it, but another part of me feels very suspicious and unnerved.

After I close the book, the sun already gleams brightly from the skylight. The cobbled stone walls seem etched with deep shadows under its brilliance.

I lean out of bed and onto the creaky wooden floor. I walk out into the foyer and place the book gently on top of the furnace. Then, with iron blade ready in hand, I open the door, glancing quickly from horizon to horizon. No Creepers in sight.

It's strange; the monsters in my dream looked a lot like Creepers. But something tells me they weren't Creepers. I looked into their eyes, and they seemed too intelligent. And they didn't smell like mold and brimstone; they smelled more like apples and ashes. I still can't believe how vibrant that dream felt; I could almost swore it really happened, had I not have woken up so suddenly. Even the tiny details of my bedroom, like the cobwebs in the corner and the ink stand on the table, were right there.

I walk out into the road, and see my neighbor, leaning against a wooden beam in front of her house. Her name is Airlass. She's lived in this town longer than I have. She always wears heavy iron armor over her trousers and various core-centered straps, to which she always affixes an axe, among various other steel tools.

"Is there something wrong?" Airlass asks. "You look as if you've seen a ghost!" She seems surprised as she looks carefully at me.

"Sort of... but not exactly." I say.

"Was it Herobrine?" She suddenly seems eager, almost hopeful.

"No, it wasn't like that. I had a weird nightmare. I was surrounded by creepers at my bedside. And then I found a book."

Suddenly I realize a familiar pressure against my back pocket. I reach my hand into it, and pull out that same book. My chest feels cold as I bring it in front for Airlass to see.

"Oh, Fristad, you're blushing!" She grabs the book out of my hand and opens it. "'The Science and Practical Use of Redstone Circuitry.' I never knew you were into that sort of thing." She shuts the book. "You're a weird one. Did I mention your new chest plate makes you look like a Skelly? What are all those bones stuck in there for anyway?"

"It's for structural reinforcement!" I explain. It's impossible to talk seriously with Airlass. Why do I even bother?

"Maybe you should try some iron armor some time? It's much more durable than leather."

"But it's way too heavy." I sigh. "Besides, iron armor makes you look like a turtle."

"Wow, and here I was thinking you were politely giving me a present like a gentleman. I was obviously mistaken. Here, you can keep your nerdy redstone book." She tosses the book at me, picks her axe up from her belt, and marches swiftly down the road towards the forest.

I wish I could have told her what the book really was. Airlass likes to joke a lot, but she's also one of my closest friends. Maybe I'll tell her when she gets back in the afternoon.


	4. Chapter 2: Meeting Up with Jonas

So here I am, stuck with a possessed book that wants to follow me everywhere, that seems to be able to alter my dreams, and is able to communicate with me by changing the words on its pages. That's just splendid. I really hope that it doesn't have other freaky magical powers; I have enough to worry about caring for the livestock and watching out for bandits.

Apparently when Airlass opened the book, it was re-written to be a redstone manual. I wonder if it stayed that way; I'm not very keen on circuitry but it may be interesting to learn.

So I open up the book again to the first page.

* * *

It seems like it's too late in the day to collect more bones.

Maybe we can wake up early tomorrow to collect them. I'm sure it will be worthwhile, as the product is as strong as steel, yet as light as cloth.

Don't hesitate to read me if you have any questions. Otherwise, I'll see you tonight.

By the way, your neighbor's quite rude.

I don't understand why the book is so insistent that I make a full set of bone-enforced leather armor. I mean, it was an interesting experiment, but I don't want to go around wearing it if it looks stupid. Besides, it's hot and it itches.

I decide to wear it for a day. Maybe it will offer better protection, and it just needs breaking in to sit right.

I head up the road past a few houses to the farm. Jonas, my herding partner, is busy unraveling a rope and pulling out shears. Most townsfolk tend to shun him for being an Ender Born, but he works well with the animals, and I've gotten accustomed to his odd colors and accent. He wears a long brown robe over most of his body to conceal his glowing runes. Most people don't realize he's too human to mind if people make eye contact with him.

Jonas tosses me a lasso and a saddle. I fumble with it with the book still in my hand, but I manage to grasp it.

"Finally awake, I see! Good morning to you." He reorganizes the chest for a little while and closes it. "So, did you stay up late reading that book you have there?"

"You're not that far off, actually." I reply "I actually found this book in a nightmare I had last night, and it appeared in my pocket this morning. I'm quite sure it's filled with some sort of dark magic, because it seems to be able to talk to me by rewriting the words on its pages."

"Are you serious?" Jonas gestures with his hand to see the book. I hand it to him, and he opens it. "What a courteous greeting addressed to me!" Jonas's brows raise high on his forehead for a moment. "By Jeb! The pages really do change! In Notch's name! That is certainly one of the stranger things I've seen... it certainly beats that one time I saw lightning hit a pig!"

He gives the book back to me, and I put it into my back pocket again. Jonas and I head into the barn to saddle up the hogs. They greet us with pleased grunts from their bloated bellies.

We ride out into the corral with lassos in hand to lead the sheep out for shearing. This spring morning is especially warm and the sheep will be grateful to have their heavy coats removed.

After a light lunch of pork and melon, Jonas and I work in the corral for a few more hours, and I talk to him a little more about how I found the book, and how it kept asking me to craft the strange armor. We store the wool and produce we gathered before saying our goodbyes. Jonas gives me one last tip before I leave.

"Keep me informed if your strange book does anything else unusual. I'll ask my cousin to look at it this Sunday."

Jonas's cousin is human, but he's very fluent in the magical arts, like the grandmother both him and Jonas share. Jonas's cousin specializes in knowledge about monsters and other sentient magical beings, so perhaps he would be able to understand my book and why it's trying to communicate with me.


	5. Chapter 3: The Second Nightmare

I head home and into my foyer, and note that my furnace does not have a book on it. Suddenly I feel a strong urge to open the book. I bring it out from my pocket. Somehow I feel excited.

* * *

We must ask Jonas's cousin if he knows how to enchant armor.

Enchantment could make your new armor invaluable.

I'll be sure to wake you up early so we can collect bones, maybe even hunt some Skeletons. We only have four days, so we must act fast.

I'll see you in your dreams.

* * *

I can't help shake the feeling that this book is trying to manipulate me. I wish there was some way to get rid of it... but it seems to be able to follow me wherever I go, so disposing of it could be difficult.

Maybe I'm being insensitive. The book came to me as a friend, asking for my friendship, after thousands of years of isolation. It's doing the best to be nice but doesn't have much social experience, so it may just not know any better.

But this isn't a person. It isn't even a monster. It's a book. Books aren't supposed to have a mind of their own; their contents are interpreted by the reader. It's simply unnatural for a book to be self-aware, let alone read my mind.

There's no use arguing with myself over some book. It's probably here to stay, so I might as well make good use of whatever may come out of it, whether it be some sort of friendship or just some stupid looking armor.

I walk up the stairs to my bedroom, nervously expecting another nightmare but helpless on how to avoid it. As I crawl into bed, I realize just how tired I really am. Sleep comes over me quickly.

* * *

It's a sunny afternoon. The grass is a long, Summery golden brown. Insects chirp loudly, and there is the distinctive smell of some wildfire burning in the distance. There is no civilization in sight, and the only thing moving is the wavering branches of trees and peacefully grazing cows.

The heat of the sun is oppressive, but no matter where I walk or how far there is no way to avoid it besides the occasional rest under a tree.

My hands are bare, my pockets and satchels empty, and my throat parched. I search hopelessly for a place to drink, so desperate that I look carefully for what could possibly be even a tiny puddle of mud. Hours pass.

The sun seems to become hotter and hotter. It begins to feel unbearable, then painful. Suddenly I see flames shoot up from my own body. I scream in agonizing pain, cursing the sun, running from its awful, malicious face. I sprint to underneath a large tree, begging for mercy from this newfound evil force. The flames on my body burn more slowly, but seem to die down. I still feel an oppressive parching heat, from this sun that threatens to hunt me as soon as it spots me, but for now at least I am alive. I must rest now, and wait for nightfall, when it is safe.


	6. Chapter 4: The Skeleton Hunt

Suddenly I feel the refreshingly cool morning air, leaking in from the cracks in the ceiling. It's that special damp air that you feel when the dew of the night is still sitting on the leaves, and the sunlight has lit the sky, but not enough to heat it.

I realize why I am awake. The book wants me to hunt for bones, so I can finish my suit of armor. I suppose if it's this insistent that I finish the armor, I might as well play along.

I get out of bed promptly. Judging from the air, I will probably have two hours before sunrise.

I sharpen my sword and stock up on food in my satchel. I think back on the last time I fought Skeletons. It was about two weeks ago. I rehearse a few sword moves and strafes that I remember suited me well in those fights. Then I carefully open the door and head down the road into the forest.

I look out carefully for formidable Creepers and Endermen, which I do not have much experience fighting and am not well equipped to deal with. Occasionally a Zombie or a Spider will run up to me, which I must quickly but carefully slay. I search for lone Skeletons and try to ambush them, strafing behind them to avoid their deadly arrows. At one moment I stumble over the rocky earth, and a Skeleton manages to shoot an arrow at my chest. I expect it to pierce the leather, but the arrow instead bounces off of the bone, which I forgot was there.

I am pleasantly surprised that the chest plate protects me so well from arrows. The leather also seems to have shrunk from yesterday's sun, leaving a small gap of air for my chest to breathe. The book was right all along. This chest plate suits me well, and I plan to wear a full set of the armor for a long time to come. I will have to tell the townsfolk of my success with this new armor. It will be exciting news to them, considering that iron deposits in the mine are running thin.

Sunrise comes upon the forest. Burning Skeletons in the distance flee under the trees, some collapsing before they find cover. I warily sprint through the trees, picking up bones where I find them, and return to the village with a satchel bloated with bones.

It is seven-thirty in the village, and the night guards are taking their final morning rounds, well-armored and armed with sword and bow. One tan-faced guard named Dameric waves at me on my way back up to my house.

In the foyer, I pour the bones out onto the crafting bench and lay them out to count. There should be enough to complete the armor with some left over, if I use about the same amount I did for the shirt.

I open my chest and take out the leather, and set it out on the crafting bench to begin working.

The crafting bench is a finicky device. You'd think such a simple man-made object would be easy to explain. Ages of research have passed as people have tried to understand how it works, with little success. We don't know much about it except that some crafting recipes work with it and some don't. It's easy to assemble any sort of object without the use of a crafting bench, but the crafting bench imbues recipes it favors with a special energy. No matter how much we try to create new technologies, or invent better tools, they always seem to shatter almost immediately, or simply not function, unless they have been created with the crafting bench. It's strange that I stumbled across a recipe so easily.

But at this point I only know how to craft the shirt. How am I supposed to craft a full set armor I don't know the recipe for?

I take the book out of my back pocket, hoping for answers.

* * *

I may be able to read your mind, but I am by no means all-knowing.

I cannot simply tell you what the recipe is. I can only tell you where to look for it.

The ability to craft the armor lies inside of you.

You are a skilled crafter. Persevere, and you will prevail.


	7. Chapter 5: Dark Stuff

I still don't know whether I like this book or not. It's just... strange.

I put the book back in my back pocket again. I lay my satchel down on the hood of the chest next to the crafting bench, and start trying to craft the helmet. I split the leather into layers, like I did with the chest plate, and try laying the bones between them, where the forehead and temples might be. I try moving around the bones underneath the layers, feeling carefully for the magnetic pull that the crafting bench exerts when it pulls the objects for a proper crafting recipe into place. Nothing happens. I continue trying to rearrange the bones, without success. My forehead begins to sweat, so I take off my leather cap, and continue working.

After adding in a few more bones, and adjusting and arranging the pieces a little more, I finally feel the pieces of bone and leather getting pulled out of my hands towards the center of the crafting bench. The leather shifts and coalesces, knitting seamlessly together with the bone. The mass of leather shifts and molds itself, until it takes the form of a well-fitted cap. I hold it in my hands and turn it around.

To my shock and disgust, the front of the helmet takes the form of a skull, complete with eye sockets and a jawbone for a strap. The crafting bench must have compressed and stretched the bone to create this monstrous design. It's a spitting image, besides the leather color. Only the teeth are missing.

But even though the helmet looks strange, I still feel eager and apprehensive to try it on, just to see what it feels like. I stretch the skull cap open over my head, when I hear a knock on the door. I place the cap back on the crafting bench to open it. It's Jonas. His purple eyes look into mine. He is genuinely concerned.

"I've been waiting for you at the corral all morning long, but you never came. Is there something wrong?"

Somehow, his presence annoys me. This business with crafting the skeleton armor is somewhat important, and yet he comes to interrupt me while I'm trying to test the cap I've just crafted. Anger wells up inside of my stomach. How dare he intrude! How dare he poke his disgusting half-blood face into my house, my sanctuary! I'm crafting armor that will change the world, and yet here he comes, to meddle with it, to taint it, to destroy it!

But how could I think that? I have always been so patient with Jonas. He's my friend. What is wrong with me?

Why would I suddenly feel so eager to finish crafting the skeleton armor? It must be so! There's no other explanation.

I try to contain myself, and explain things to Jonas as calmly as possible. "It's the book. It keeps asking me to make that special armor."

"The new armor? Is that all this is about? You could just craft it some other time. I could still use your help feeding the animals. It's not easy doing it all by myself."

Poor Jonas. He's been caring for the animals by himself all this time? I should have known.

"I know it isn't. For some reason I lost track of time. I think it may be because of the book. I think it might be able to control my thoughts."

"That's just... strange." Jonas looks deflated and dazed for a moment, leans a little heavier against the doorframe, and then collects himself again. "Are you really sure?"

"Yes, I'm sure."

"That's dark stuff." Jonas sighs. "Really dark. I will have to see if I can get someone else to look after the animals tomorrow. We need to visit my cousin as soon as possible to make sure that the book doesn't make you do something dangerous. Promise me you'll lie low today, okay?"

"I promise."

Jonas closes the door, leaving me in the house alone. I stand still for a few minutes, realizing just how much time has actually passed. Then I remember I forgot to tell Jonas that I went Skeleton hunting this morning. It probably would make him more worried about me. He knows enough about what's going on for now.

I remember the book, and decide to open it again, to try and see what it wants, and why it wants to control me.


	8. Chapter 6: The Skull Cap

I never meant to make you do anything against your own will.

All this time I've been trying to communicate with you.

But you only seem to understand that it's me when I write these words to you on my pages.

I've tried many times to show you what I think and what I feel, but you seem to think that it's your own emotions and your own thoughts.

I've never tried to change the way you think, or prevent you from thinking certain thoughts.

I just want to be friends with you and show you things.

Please don't be afraid of me.

* * *

I don't know whether to believe it.

Again I feel the eagerness and apprehension to put on the skull cap. Maybe that's just the feelings the book has. It wants me to try the helmet on.

I suppose I've come this far. I might as well satisfy the book's curiosity, if that's really what it's feeling. I suppose if the book wanted me to feel a certain way, or think certain things, then the book would probably be thinking and feeling the same.

I lift the cap up from the crafting bench, and stretch it over my head. The edges of the eye sockets of the helmet surround my own. The lower front tip of the cap covers my nose. My head feels hot from the thick leather, and slightly tingly from the residual crafting energy.

Then I fasten the jaw-shaped strap under my chin. The fit is snug.

I draw my sword out from its holster, and hold it flat to see my reflection. I almost look like an entirely different person. With both the cap and the chest plate combined together, I look all too much like a Skeleton. The helmet is just too much. I take it off.

I feel a sense of protest and disappointment, which must be from the book. I take the book out of my back pocket and open it up to the first page.

* * *

Why did you have to take it off?

It will give you much better protection than just your leather cap.

It looked great on you, too.

You have to let go of your stigma for the undead.

They are highly misunderstood creatures.

Look: if you promise to finish the armor and get Jonas's cousin to enchant it tomorrow, I promise I won't give you nightmares tonight.

* * *

Look, book: if I wear that armor, I'm going to look like a nightmare!

The words on the page fade, being replaced by new ones.

* * *

Just trust me, please.

You've already trusted me all this time.

You continued wearing the chest plate, and you crafted the skull cap out of your own free will.

And you discovered the crafting recipe in the process. Doesn't that make you feel proud?

Sure, the armor does have a shape that resembles a skeleton. But nobody in town was afraid of your new chest plate, were they?

If anything, you're afraid of me.


	9. Chapter 7: Lunch

I suppose the book does have a point. But there's only a certain level of trust I'm willing to give this book.

If the armor really is as good as the book insists it is, then it's worth crafting. Surely it won't hurt anything to craft the leggings and boots.

Except maybe Jonas's time. I feel bad letting him run the corral on his own for the rest of the day, but I want to make sure this book isn't trying to control me.

I begin arranging some bones and leather on the crafting bench again, when I hear a knock on the door. I come up to it and open it.

It's Ironbrawn, one of the night guards. I've never seen him not wearing his armor before, but he still looks like a giant. His shoulders are broad and every muscle in his body widens him by over a decimeter, much like the miners I see passing through town ever so often.

"Your Enderman friend wanted me to bring you lunch and ask you how you were doing."

"I'm fine, thank you." I take the cloth-covered basket he hands to me. "Tell Jonas, 'Thanks for the food.'"

"Who's Jonas?" Ironbrawn seems a little annoyed. He doesn't like Jonas too much and tries to avoid him, like most people in town.

"He's my Enderman friend you mentioned."

"Alright then." He sighs, and turns to leave. "Take care."

"You too." I close the door, and walk into the side room to eat the lunch Jonas gave me. He packed me some pork and melon, the usual lunch we eat in the afternoon, but also an Ender Pearl, for good luck. He always gives me an Ender Pearl when I'm at home and ill. I'm very lucky to have a friend like him.


	10. Chapter 8: Second Thoughts

After that satisfying meal, I return to the foyer to start crafting the leggings. I lay out the bones and leather together, trying to see if the pattern with the arrangement of bones between the layers continues.

Hours pass, as I try to arrange the bones in what feels like my intuition. I move my arm within the leather, when suddenly I feel the arrangement pull itself, and my arm with it, towards the center of the crafting bench. The seams form, putting pressure on my arm, pulling it in tighter. I struggle quickly to pull my arm out with great strength, and manage to tug it out, but rip the leather in the process. The rip is folded away as the bone-enforced leggings finish taking shape.

My arm feels numb for a moment as blood begins to pump through it again. That piece of armor put up a nasty fight! I will have to be more careful while crafting the boots. I guess crafting something new comes with its own danger: you never know when the crafting bench will start to pull on it.

Even so, I'm still frightened and amazed at what just happened. In all my years of crafting, I've successfully completed many crafting recipes I wasn't familiar with, even the skull cap just a half an hour ago, but I've never had to quickly move my hand out of the way like that. The crafting bench acts slowly, circumventing human touch, not rapidly and impatiently like it just did. I wonder if the book might be responsible?

I need to stop being so paranoid. I'm obviously not quite myself today. All the strange events that have happened have taken a toll on me. They are all happening because of this strange presence, the book, but it's not so much the book itself that is making me feel this way. I just don't quite understand how to react to everything that has happened.

I feel a sense of relief and satisfaction, as if some sort of understanding has taken place. It's definitely the book that feels that way, not me.

I lift up the leggings from the crafting bench, noting it's structure. The bones within the fabric are aligned parallel to its length, forming a solid plate near the kneecap. Again, the shape of the bones bears an uncanny resemblance to a Skeleton.

Another thought crosses my mind, that I must have felt for a split second before, but didn't quite develop: What's the point of all this? I know I'm crafting some supposedly good armor, but is it really worth it to do what the book wants me to do? What are the book's intentions? I don't care if the book says the armor is as strong as steel. It looks like a Skeleton. Perfectly suitable armor doesn't make you look like a monster when you wear it. The book doesn't get to dictate what I wear. I'm done with this stupid game.

I un-strap the bone chest plate from my back. The book projects a clear sense of surprise, frustration, and anger. I ignore it. I put my old leather helmet and chest plate back on, and lift up the bone armor from the table. I walk to the closet under the stairwell, open it, and toss the armor into the darkness. I hesitate for a moment, and then reach into my back pocket, take the book out, and throw it into the darkness as well. I shut the door.

"Why are you afraid of me?"

It's a voice inside my head. A female voice, deep and sad, pleading. I know it's the book, but I don't care anymore.

All I see is the wood of the door in front of me, and the wall under the stairwell. I feel a sense of relief, as if a huge burden has been lifted from my shoulders. I look outside the windows of the foyer, and the town is already covered in the darkness of the night. I realize how exhausted I am, from hunting skeletons early in the morning to searching for crafting recipes all day. I should go to sleep. I head upstairs, into my bedroom, and collapse onto the bed.


	11. Chapter 9: The Void

I'm in a library for some reason. The wooden ceiling is six meters up, and bookshelves reach all the way to the top. The bindings of each book are covered in a thin layer of dust, and the air is thick with the smell of old paper and wood shavings. The light is dim, barely comfortable to see in but dark enough for monsters to spawn. Even so, the room is absolutely silent. All I can hear is my own breath and heartbeat.

I walk down the hallway of bookshelves, until I reach a larger hallway, with seemingly endless lines of bookshelves facing it in both directions. I look down the left side of bookshelves, following the floor with my eyes upward and forward until it seems to shrink and then vanish, without meeting up with any observable wall. I look to the right and see the same thing, endless bookshelves with no end in sight. I decide to walk further forward a little longer.

I reach another large hallway. I look to the left again, and see a larger gap in between two lines of bookshelves, with wooden tables and chairs for reading. I walk towards it, and see a reed-bound book covered in dust, laid open with its pages facing down. I brush the dust off with my hand, and lift it to read. An old flint pen falls out of its pages and rattles against the table. They became obsolete when ink was discovered.

I turn the book over and hold it open to the first page. The flint script is faint, and the letters are written with the Latin alphabet, which I barely remember from when I was young and still in school. I struggle as best I can to read them:

"The purpose of this journal is to try to record what I have seen and done throughout my many years of deep research. I will do my best to summarize my findings and experiences, as well as search and provide explanations for the strange phenomena that fill our strange world.

"The primary focus of my research has been on crafting, as it is for many others. I think the significant amount of attention dedicated to the science of crafting is well-deserved. It is a very complex field, which draws both on the physical properties of materials as well as the metaphysical properties of the crafter.

"That second part of crafting, the metaphysical, is often fatally underestimated by most researchers. I hope that this journal can help prove that what we perceive and what we think is just as important to crafting as..."

This book is somewhat dull. I don't think I want to read any more of it.

I close the book and stand up from the table, and feel the body heat of someone leaning tightly against my back. I turn around and lock sight with two glowing purple eyes surrounded in Obsidian-colored blackness, with black runes surrounding them. A bony jaw lined with black knifed teeth drops down, unhatching unearthly groans and screams of agony.

I struggle against my fear to not look away from it, backing away slowly. Purple smoke begins to materialize between the Enderman and I. It thickens, and then shatters with the sound of dimensions being ripped apart and sewn back together again. Obsidian darkness takes its place, filling the room with Endermen, some so close they touch me as they wander past. Now many of them directly in my sight are screaming. I realize that the longer that I continue to stare, the more Endermen are going to stumble into my gaze and become driven into a frenzy.

I drop my eyes down the floor and turn around, running as quickly as I can, shoving countless Endermen aside, focusing only on the wooden floor and not stopping, hearing footsteps and enraged screams against my neck.

The wooden floor vanishes, leaving only the tainted blue of the void below. I feel myself stumble over air, falling and falling. The searing heat and silver smoke of the void envelopes me, igniting me with unimaginable invisible flames. I feel the void soaking into my mind, filling my consciousness with uncertainty and fear, chaos and destruction, and incinerating all my other perceptions with a pain more intense than any flame.

"Now do you see? Do you understand now the immense suffering I've been through and the pain I've felt, all these years? I try to forget my past. I try to share my knowledge with you, and you throw it away like trash! How selfish and gluttonous you are! Wake up, and face the truth!"


	12. Chapter 10: Mind Games

In a sort of lucid waking dream, I awake unconscious of my surroundings. The unburning heat of the void does not leave me; I feel hot and sweaty under thick fabric as if ailed by a sickly fever.

I struggle to stay awake, shaking as a sleep deprived body does in its second wind. I realize the struggle is also to keep my body on its two feet. Somehow I am standing, wearing armor, and my eyes are closed. I open them, and see in the dim light my hands resting on the crafting bench, holding a shifting mass of leather and bone, as it coalesces to form two boots.

How is this possible? Was I sleepwalking when I did this?

Somehow the fact that the skeleton armor is complete makes me wary of how these forces came to be, how I came to craft those strange things, one after the other. I'd rather I didn't try to discover how it happened, but somehow it doesn't feel right.

How could I have put on this armor in my sleep? Did my memories lapse somehow? Did the book somehow gain control of me through the nightmare?

The idea of the book's influence sinks in more. Somehow a precious part of my consciousness has been violated, and couldn't be rectified. The book is responsible for that violation. Part of me feels terrified, and another part enraged.

I thought I told you to leave me alone! I reach underneath the skeleton armor, for the back pocket underneath, and sure enough, there is the familiar square bulge. I reach within the pocket and grab the book out to open it, projecting my anger as I stare at the blank pages. Words materialize, both on the paper and within my mind.

"You did it! You should be so proud! Do you have any idea what this means?"

If you had any teeth, you'd be lying through them. Don't play coy. Explain what you did to me, and tell it to me straight.

"I'm not sure what you mean. I was simply a guide. The effort and credit belong to you."

You could start explaining what the nightmare you gave me has to do with me crafting these boots.

"I see no connection, and I'm not sure why you'd think I gave you a nightmare. I would never do that sort of thing!"

That's wrong. You're lying! You said it yourself that you gave me those nightmares. Then you made me craft this armor!

"I don't understand why you're taking your anger out on me. Besides, that armor is your accomplishment, not mine. I will take no credit. Perhaps there is some hidden grudge we need to discuss?"

I know what you're trying to do to me and I won't let you do it!

I have to get rid of the book somehow. Putting it in a closet isn't enough. I have to destroy it. I wonder how hard it would be to rip apart the binding... but it can still hear my thoughts!

"I wouldn't try that if I were you. I can make you feel whatever I feel, including pain. Perhaps you still remember the void, and what that felt like? That terrible, unbearable void..."

The book projects a deep fear and loathing. I remember how the pain felt, and for a small moment I feel sympathy for the book... but then I try to shut my mind off from the thought, knowing it is a trick meant to manipulate me.

"Don't be so upset. You've crafted the boots and made the decision to put them on. And for that, the nightmare is over."

But I never wanted to put them on. When did I make that decision? Never. The book is trying to tell me what to think. I won't let it.

But I don't have much of a choice. If I don't put on the boots, I will be thrust into another nightmare. Surely putting on a set of armor before bed to fulfill the book's false perception of control over me is better than the alternative.

I take the first boot, and stretch it underneath my right foot, sliding my leg into it. Then I take the second boot, and slide it over my left foot. Then I head groggily back to the bedroom, and slide clumsily into my bed.

But if I am coerced against choosing for myself, is that perception of control really false?


End file.
